Danger Close

(Originally published August 13, 2025) In the military, they aren’t “coworkers.” They’re your brothers and sisters.

I come from a family of service: my dad was Air Force, my stepdad was Air Force, my brother was Navy, and me, my son, and my nephew are all Army. I have countless cousins who’ve served, too.

That soldier with a pressure dressing on in Fort Stewart right now? That’s my brother. That’s my son.

When I deployed, I scared my parents. They were proud — but they were afraid. Years later, when my son deployed, I understood their fear. I told him, “Trust your training — and bring your soldiers home.” I was terrified, but I was proud. I even reached out to a fellow soldier I’d served with whose own son had already deployed. That bond doesn’t fade. I still love the men and women I served alongside.

Hours calling cadence on runs. Conversations in the motor pool. Sitting on cots in tents halfway around the world. You know more about these men and women than some of their own blood relatives.

And then — gunfire. Training takes over. Unspoken words in knowing glances. You jump. React. Respond. Clearing doorways. Stacking up in hallways.

He isn’t “Robert” now — he’s the threat to be neutralized before he hurts someone else you love. Then comes the triage — your squad, your team, your family.

At Fort Stewart, danger close wasn’t in some far-off battlefield. It was at the desk you used to bum cigarettes from.

And unarmed soldiers ran toward it — ending the threat before it could take more.

That’s more than courage. That’s family. That’s love in action.

John 15:13 — “No one has greater love than this, to lay down one’s life for one’s friends.”

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